The Boy Who Lived
by Uselesspill
Summary: A short, blahfic by me. Written from the pointofview of Kevin's mother,as in, Kevin Roarke. Supersilent Cannibal. but I don't feel you should believe it for a secondI wouldn't. Only some extracts are true. You decide.Sin City does not belong to me, but to
1. Chapter 1

**Anne Miller:**

**He was born Kevin Elijah Miller, and he was a fussy baby, though I'm not sure why. Kevin was born with a full head of hair, and a few teeth. He'd scream and scream with those teabag lungs of his until his whole body was red and covered in perspiration, the little veins sticking out from his forehead with effort. He didn't react to smiles (Kevin _never_ smiled) or cuddles (he'd just stiffen) and a praising voice full of coos was just met with a blank sort of 'what the fuck do YOU want?' stare. **

**He refused breast milk point blank, spitting it out in distaste, his face contorting with dislike. Bottled, he liked well enough, so we kept him on that. As he transitioned into toddlerhood, he ignored his menagerie of toys, preferring to fling wooden blocks at the wall in malice, until marks and even small holes were made. He could raise his head and sit perfectly upright very prematurely, though we feared his lack of speech was daunting at the end of toddlerhood, besides the odd 'no'.**

**When toddler Kevin fell over, he would not cry or wish for a cuddle, even if he fell on a surface like concrete or fell from a distance, like off a step. He would look displeased with himself, pick himself up and carry on. He was as unreactive to his daddy as to me, disliking the normal father/son interactions-swooping over daddy's head, rolling a ball along a polished floor…no, it wasn't lack of a strong father figure that 'disrupted' Kevin, he had everything.**

**As a child, Kevin was particularly unruly, without remorse. They say serial killers start off with animal torture, but Kevin tolerated the company of creatures, feeling they were 'intelligent life'. Kevin would scribble repeatedly on walls, trance-like almost, and upon spanking as a punishment, he was neither unrepentant (screaming for his apoligies was just met with his ever-present silence, even when I was left frustrated enough to shake his shoulders.) nor paying in pain-he has always had an unusually high pain threshold. If left to his own devices, Kevin would create grass fires, or I would find him watching relentlessly violent television (he seamlessly worked out a way to get past the 'child blocks' on some channels) so annoyingly, constant supervision was required. I couldn't wait to get him into school.**


	2. Chapter 2

Kevin looked under-nourished, another great fret of mine. He was endlessly picky with food, disliking white meat, red meat cooked 'wrong' (if Kevin disliked a dish, he would deliberate the texture with his fingers, then drop his fork and declare 'wrong!' and refuse the meal.) most sweet things (besides jelly) fruit, vegetables aside from tough broccoli, tinned goods, dried foods, soups and even junk food. One time I particularly remember, I had read in a magazine that a child is more likely to consume food they were involved with helping with, so I wanted to start off gently with a cherry pie.

"**Want to help me make a pie, Kevvie?"**

**I was met by a weary look. He thought I meant 'watch mummy', then 'watch mummy bung it in the oven'**

"**No, you can help, sweetiekins!" I re-assured.**

"**Yeah!" He cried, looking genuinely interested, and for the first time like an actual smiling kid, and rushed into the kitchen. I had him de-stoning cherries whilst I made the pastry, then he was involved with sauce-making and filling the pie.**

"**We have to bake it for half an hour, sweetie. Mummy will call you later."**

**But Kevin played at my feet, with blocks (PLAYING with, not throwing) whilst I dreamily read a magazine, feeling like my Partridge family dream was about to come true. When the oven 'pinged', we witnessed a perfect golden-brown crust. It was beautiful, it really was.**

"**Do you want a slice, hun?" I enquired, waiting for my little chef to sample his work.**

"**No." He stated boredly. I lost it.**

"**WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS PIE, THEN!" **

**Kevin considered it, on his stool so he stood tall to the counter. He plunged his hands into it, red cherry filling up his sleeves, all up to his elbows. He disembowelled the pie, crust everywhere, leaving me a great mess of the countertops to clean up, and he sauntered calmly to the living room. We never cooked again.**


	3. Chapter 3

I suppose I'd been putting off Kevin's schooling, thanks to his disruptive behaviour, but I wanted his silence to end, and I knew the kid was bright. I actually thought everyone would bully Kevin-his emaciated little frame, peaky face, huge glasses magnifying staring eyes, and his tendency to wear black, the same knitwear even in the summer. (Come to think of it, Kevin was desperately private, we were never to see him on the toilet or bathing, but I never discussed 'body issues' with him) but the children actually scattered when Kevin walked into the yard. I suppose a child with woman's length pointed nails WAS intimidating, but Kevin would never, ever let me cut them. He looked at me, wordlessly, not in a 'look mummy, I have no friends, the other children don't like me and this makes me sad' way, but just in his cold, silent way.

**Kevin was settled into his duck-patterned classroom, but I was called in the middle of the day.**

"**Mrs. Miller, I think you should come in. You need to take a look at this."**

**Kevin's teacher, Miss Blake, had a lot to say. And a lot to show. The first was a pile of drawings, twenty-two to be precise. They were fat crayon swirls from Kevin-black, over and over again, with the odd highlights on some; red, purple, dark brown.**

"**These drawings are typically the work of troubled children, Mrs. Miller. These devoid, heartless drawings, whilst the other children draw animals and cottages and cartoon characters."**

**I squirmed thinking of Kevin's favourite 'characters', ninjas and cowboys, pirates and mobsters.**

"**Kevin is missing nothing. We have a large house in the glades, with lots of toys and a swing and.."**

"**This can't be judged on material wealth, Mrs. Miller," Miss Blake said pityingly. "This is just a troubled little boy we're dealing with."**

**I scoffed. "I know Kevin is a handful, but I hardly think he's troubled, I…"**

**I was cut off as she lifted something from the box behind her. It was a little girl's ponytail.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Kevin offered no explanation to why he did this," Miss Blake said sadly, the ponytail swaying ghoulishly in her hands. "I just have to say that Kirsty is very nearly bald now, and her mother is VERY upset."

"**Are you sure it was Kevin?" I asked pathetically.**

"**Oh yes. I saw him do it in one fell swoop. He wouldn't even let go of the ponytail, look." She rolled up her sleeves to show me deep red half-moon cuts up her wrists and arms. There was even one on her neck. Kevin's nails. She continued to shake her head sadly. "I just don't understand. I mean they were even safety scissors, they struggle to cut PAPER! But he did it in just one cut."**

**As she stared into space, I shifted uncomfortably. The other mothers would hate me. She seemed to brighten, though.**

"**Anyway, it's not ALL bad news, Mrs. Miller, though this incident is very, very bad."**

**I was like a child being scolded. "So that's all he did?"**

"**Oh no, it was a catalogue of disaster. He pushed several boys and girls, disrupted the lunch queue, destroyed art supplies and pupil projects, even scribbled on classroom walls!" I cringed. His crime at home. "But I would like to get onto the good news, if I may. I feel Kevin is very bright, exceedingly bright, and well-advanced."**

**I perked up, staring at her. He'd say blunt sentences at home and was disgracefully disruptive.**

"**He does not partake well with English-he will not read when prompted, won't answer questions, does not wish to write from the imagination. However, he is very advanced mathematically. His head is like a calculator. I suggested some simple addition exercises, aided by blocks, and though he pushed them around boredly, he was always correct, even with the larger numbers. I got excited, and took the blocks away, and began to ask him to write down the answers to sums I would dictate aloud. I had a calculator, and he was always correct. Which is more, he is capable of subtraction, division and multiplication too, and has already mastered square root, decimals and percentages!"**

**I was impressed, I was. But the ponytail hung off her knee, and I knew that for a while, nothing this child could do would impress me. I let her witter on, then I went home, packed my bags, and left.**


	5. Chapter 5

I stayed away for two weeks, but always checked up on Kevin and his dad by phonecall.

"**How's he doing?"**

"**He's quiet." I rolled my eyes. When WASN'T he quiet? "He's stroking around in his jumper drawer a lot now."**

**I smiled knowingly. I knitted Kevin a lot of jumpers. He loved those jumpers more than he loved my care. One day I witnessed him holding them up to himself in the full-length mirror, smiling and rubbing his cheek against the softness of each one. When he saw that I'd witnessed this chink in his armour, he flew at the door with a wild fury, and was extra-naughty for weeks. From a young age, we knew that Kevin had a jumper fetish.**

**When I returned, we made an effort to go to Church, a vain attempt to 'save' my son. As a family, we were never particularly religious. My husband was catholic, but he never forced it on us. However, I think he was relieved to return to a more church-going lifestyle.**

**I hoped the Church wasn't too focused on 'straaaaaight to Hell' style politics, because I knew Kevin would be spellbound in a ghoulish way. No, I wanted Kevin to be a good boy. But Church affected Kevin deeply-He loved the preaching of Cardinal Roarke (yes, back when Roarke was a lowly priest!) and really sat up and took notice. Too much notice, because as glad that I was that Kevin was enjoying Church, he started to quote Bible verses, showing off, repeating, schreeching them throughout the house, Bible verses again and again and again. Apart from the same blunt sentences and odd, disfigured Bible-quote-chanting, Kevin was his silent self, like a Chaplin film without the humour.**

**At another school meeting, Miss Blake gushed "I really think Kevin could benefit from special classes, Mrs. Miller!" I think apart from Kevin getting a 'higher' education, she would also relish the idea of Kevin out of her hair, out of his classroom with a special teacher (there had been more attempted scalpings). I agreed, and the lessons were underway.**

**They were set up rather cheesily, so that 'creative craft' would be set up for Kevin, and the teacher could 'discover him at work' as it were, and question him about it-this was to build confidence and vocabulary. Kevin was surprised at the amount of activities that greeted his destructive little self, and settled himself at a table, scribbling with 'bigboy' pencil crayons. The teacher snuck up on him.**

"**Oooh, that's a nice drawing. What are you drawing there?" The pencils slowly slid from Kevin's grasp. **

"**Oh, it's a shame you've stopped. What are these? Flowers? Boats?"**

**He stared at his picture. The teacher was fat.**

"**I bet a big boy like you isn't drawing flowers! That was a silly question, wasn't it?"**

**No reaction. You see, a technique with mute children is to bombard them with questions. Be relentless, make them annoyed enough until they are forced to answer. But Kevin was no mute, he was just very selective. She tried for two more hours, but he stared steadily at her until she flopped back into her chair.**


	6. Chapter 6

Kevin soon got wise to the 'creative craft' too, and by the nest session, he was ignoring them, no matter how much poster paint and pipe cleaners he was plied with. He would plonk himself onto the floor or a stool, and prepare himself for the pointless hours of attempts to coax him to talk.

**Kevin started to attend Roarke's Sunday School, which worried me. They were both quite taken with each other, and I hoped Roarke wouldn't be interested in our son in any paedophilic way. One day, I got a call out of the blue. It was Roarke.**

"**Mrs. Miller, I need you to come down to the Church, I need to talk to you about your son."**

**I cleared my throat, ready to bombard him with "No I'm sorry Father, Kevin can't come to extended Church class or anything like that, he gets a lot of maths homework now.."**

"**I'm worried…" broke Roarke's voice. Oh God, what had Kevin done, smashed a few candle holders? Surely he wouldn't play the fool in his beloved Church? Why does he have to build things up, and take them away from himself?**

"**I think you should come right away." The phone went dead.**

**Father Roarke squirmed uncomfortably.**

"**I usually have to stay true to my oath," he blushed. "But this level of confession from an eight year old boy.."**

"**Oh God, what has he done?"**

"**Well, Mrs. Miller, it's a dead man, you see…"**

"**What?! My son is a murderer?!" I hauled myself off my pew and into a side room, where Kevin was playing with model sheep from a nativity scene, demure in his Church. Roarke followed.**

"**Kevin, what have you DONE?!" I asked, shaking him.**

**He went doe-eyed and stupid. "Well you see, mummy…" He was never like this, that high-pitched little voice. This was for the benefit of Roarke, a show. "The man, he died in our garden."**

**My eyes were popping from my head.**

"**If I may step in, Mrs. Miller. It was a homeless man, that's what I understand from talking to Kevin. He was very drunk, and Kevin found him tangled up in the weeds."**

**Yes, that was very possible. There was a sharp, weedy bank where the body could have lay.**

"**Well? AND?!" I asked sharply.**

"**Well Kevin…He ATE a little bit of the man, I'm afraid, Mrs. Miller."**

"**What?" I asked, bemused.**

"**Just a bit of his leg, mummy."**

**I hauled Kevin away and spanked the crap out of him until I was drained.**

**Kevin was unphased that Roarke had told me. He didn't seem to view it as a betrayal of trust. Long story short, the 'eating' continued. Kevin would snack on cadavers, somehow finding them in alleys on the way to school, eating unknown. The confessions to Roarke continued. By the time he was 12, Kevin was getting sloppy, and the blood rinds in his long nails and caked around his mouth betrayed where his lust lay. I no longer wanted him in my care. Surprise, surprise, Roarke adopted him, all legal. (And moving on up, he became a cardinal) Kevin even took on the family name, Roarke.**

**Kevin Roarke.**


End file.
